Learning the Hard Way
by draggon-flye
Summary: Palmer learns the hard way just how Gibbs deals with disobedience.  Tag to About Face.  Contains spanking; don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Contains spanking; don't like, don't read**

* * *

><p>"Palmer, with me."<p>

I stopped and turned to Gibbs, puzzled, but Gibbs hadn't even bothered to look to see if I'd followed. He'd just kept walking, assuming his command would be obeyed. I swallowed hard. What could Agent Gibbs want with me now? Everything was over. They'd caught the guy and I'd already identified him. Surely Gibbs couldn't think I needed medical treatment. For one, my nose had already stopped bleeding, and for another, Agent Gibbs had to know Dr. Mallard would insist on checking me over anyway as soon as I got downstairs.

A short, sharp "Now, Palmer!" shattered the thought in its tracks and sent me scrambling to catch up, nearly tripping over my own feet in the process. I followed Gibbs deep into the bowels of the NCIS building, through a serpentine maze of orange hallways I hadn't even known existed. Where was Gibbs taking me? If he needed to debrief me or something, why not just go into the conference room like he had before. It wasn't like I was privy to sensitive information or anything. What was Gibbs doing?

Then, slowly, a terrifying thought began to creep around in the far recesses of my brain—a thought so terrible it nearly stopped me in my tracks. I'd heard rumors about Gibbs, about how he disciplined his team. Everybody knew Gibbs was relentless. He suffered no fools and accepted no excuses. Ever. But the rumors said there was more. That he employed his own discipline, of the old fashioned, physical variety. I never believed it, of course. Gibbs' team was the best of the best. They could work for anyone anywhere. There's no way they'd let him beat them.

Gibbs stopped abruptly, opened a door, and stepped inside. Not knowing what else to do, I followed. The room had obviously been used as a conference room at some point, an old table with mismatched chairs still stood in the center of the room, but given the number of dented filing cabinets and three-legged desks that littered the room, its current use was clearly storage. Why had Gibbs brought me to a storage room? That terrible thought in the back of my mind suddenly slammed to the front. What if the rumors were true? I had, technically, disobeyed an order, and Gibbs was a Marine sniper. He could probably kill me without leaving a mark. Oh god, I was gonna puke.

"Close the door, Palmer."

My stomach twisted painfully, and I fought hard not to deposit my stomach's contents all over the floor at Gibbs' feet. I thought briefly of running, but I knew that would be tantamount to suicide. Realizing Gibbs was staring at me, stern-faced, clearly waiting for me to obey, I turned and pushed the door closed. The metallic click echoed like a gunshot, and I flinched before I could stop myself. I turned slowly back to face Gibbs, studying a spot on the wall beyond his shoulder and waiting for him to speak. Only he didn't speak. He just stood there and stared, silent as a stone.

"Um, sir…" Gibbs shot me a sharp look and I froze. Christ, I was an idiot. Gibbs hated being called sir. Smooth move, Jimmy, just what you what you need to do, piss him off more. "I mean, Agent Gibbs, umm, did you…I mean…what did you…I mean, um, that is…"

"Palmer."

"What are we doing here?"

Gibbs settled back, propped a hip on the rickety table, and crossed his arms. "We need to talk."

"S-s-sir?" I regretted it the moment the word came out of my mouth, but I couldn't stop it. I tensed expecting a sharp reprimand not to call him sir, but none came.

"You disobeyed a direct order back there."

"I didn't get out of the car," I blurted.

He was on his feet and in my face in an instant. "You weren't even supposed to be in the damn car!" he barked. "Dammit, Palmer, I told you to stay put!"

"I know," I said. "It's just…"

"Just what, Palmer?" Gibbs snapped. "Please, tell me. Just what the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"He tried to kill me," I said, desperate to make him understand. "I had to do something."

Gibbs scrubbed a hand over his head, eyes snapping. "Don't you think I know he tried to kill you? Why do you think I wanted you to stay here? I needed you safe. I damn sure didn't need my only witness sneaking out like a headstrong teenager and giving a murderer another chance to put bullet in his brain."

I dropped my head, studying the floor. Put like that it sounded stupid. Really stupid.

"You're not one of my agents," Gibbs went on, "but as Assistant Director Vance recently pointed out, you are on my team, which means discipline for this stunt falls to me."

"D-discipline?" I stammered.

"Yes, Palmer, discipline," Gibbs said. "Surely you didn't think something this serious would go by without consequences."

"Consequences?" I echoed. I knew I sounded like an idiot, but I just couldn't wrap my head around it. Earlier, at the scene, when he told me I had something to write home about, he almost sounded amused, but now, he clearly wasn't. I was so confused.

"Yes, consequences," Gibbs said dryly, clearly annoyed. "I'm sure you're familiar with the concept."

"Yes, sir, it's just…" It's just I thought you were proud of me, I thought, but there was no way I could say that aloud.

"Just what?" Gibbs prompted.

"You would have done the same thing," I blurted before I could stop myself.

"I'd have shot the bastard, not rammed him with the damn car," Gibbs replied, "and if I had disobeyed an order in the process, then I would have paid for it, just like you're going too."

"Does this mean you're going to report me to the director, sir?" My voice shook as I spoke, and I cursed myself to all manners of hell for being such a coward.

"Only if I have to, Palmer," Gibbs said. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but before I could speak, he went on, "I don't like paper punishments, Palmer. They don't teach anything, and they usually do more harm to your career than the offence warrants. I prefer to handle things personally and informally."

"How?" I asked, clinging to the hope that what I feared wasn't true.

"Corporal Punishment," he said matter-of-factly. "It's quick, effective, and clears the air."

The air in the room seemed to disappear in an instant. My head spun, and I fought back a wave of dizziness. "Y-y-you want me to let you _beat_ me," I sputtered, aghast.

Agent Gibbs grabbed a chair and shoved it in my direction. "Sit," he ordered.

I stared at it, uncomprehending. Everything in my head was all jumbled, nothing made sense.

"Oh, for god's sake, Palmer, sit down before you fall down," Gibbs snapped.

Fall? What was he talking about?

"Now."

My body obeyed before my mind realized what was happening. I dropped automatically into the chair.

"Breathe," Gibbs said. "Put your head between your legs if you have to. If you don't calm down, you're gonna pass out."

Calm? He wants to beat me, and he wanted me to be calm? The very thought was ridiculous, but I forced myself to take a deep breath anyway.

"That's it," Gibbs said, dragging a chair over to sit beside me, "deep breaths."

I took several more slow breaths and some of the confusion began to recede. It was only then that I realized I'd been hyperventilating. Some doctor I am. I'm a third year med student, and I can't even recognize hyperventilation. No wonder Gibbs was ready to kill me.

"No one is going to beat you," Gibbs said.

"But you said…"I protested.

"I know what I said," Gibbs replied shortly. "I meant a spanking, that's all, just a spanking."

That's all? I thought incredulously. He says that like there's this huge difference.

I hadn't meant to say that aloud, but I must have because Agent Gibbs said, "There is." I just gaped at him. I didn't believe him for a minute, but there was no way I was going to be stupid enough to argue with him. Gibbs shot me an exasperated look and sighed heavily before asking quietly, "Have you ever been spanked before, son?"

"No, well, yes, I mean, sort of."

"It's a yes or no question, Palmer," Gibbs said tightly. "Which. Is. It?"

I squirmed and blushed. Geez, this was embarrassing. "I was spanked as a small child a few times, but I was so young I don't really remember it. By the time I was old enough to really remember, all my parents ever had to do was threaten it."

Gibbs nodded, as if he'd expected as much. "So it's always just been the Big Bad Wolf in your imagination, and you have no idea what it's really like."

I wanted to deny it, but it made an uncomfortable amount of sense. "I know it hurts," I blurted before I could stop myself.

Gibbs didn't bother denying it. "Yeah," he agreed, "it does. It wouldn't be very effective if it didn't, but then it's over. There'll be no investigation, no paper trail. What happens will be between us and will stay between us."

"Dr. Mallard?" I wasn't even sure why I was asking, but somehow, it seemed important.

"Ducky knows how I handle my agents," Gibbs replied. "I won't tell him, but I suspect he'll figure it out."

"He knows?" The thought was mind-boggling. Surely Dr. Mallard didn't condone such methods.

"He's known me for years," Gibbs said. "Do you really think I could hide it?" I couldn't do anything but stare. The shock must have shown on my face because Gibbs shrugged and went on. "It's different for Ducky and me, kid. In our day, we got spanked, at home, at school, wherever. It was common. It's not the Big Bad Wolf for us; it's just a logical consequence of screwing up."

What was I supposed to say to that? My head was spinning, and there was no way I could form words. The silence stretched long and heavy between us.

Finally, Gibbs said, "Well, Palmer, what's it gonna be, on the record or off?"

Neither, I thought. Either option was equally awful. I didn't want a spanking, but I certainly didn't want to deal with facing the director either. I heard myself whisper "off" before I even consciously realized I'd made a decision.

Agent Gibbs nodded. He pulled me to my feet with a hand on my shoulder and turned me toward the battered table. The hand moved to my neck, bending me forward by way of a slight pressure at the base between my shoulders. I was too frozen to argue or protest. I dropped my head on my folded arms and waited.

Behind me, I heard Agent Gibbs unbuckle his belt and slide it through the loops. My stomach turned to ice. Not the belt…not the belt…not the… The first lash tore a cry from my throat. It burned like fire, over and over and over again. Each stroke made me cry out. My scrubs were too thin to offer any protection. At some point I started to cry, sobbing like a little kid. Embarrassment flooded me, but I couldn't stop. It hurt so much. After an eternity, it finally stopped. I tried to stop the tears but couldn't. Gibbs stepped back and replaced his belt. I pushed slowly upright, scrubbing at my face and fighting hard to still my shaking shoulders. Gibbs put a hand to my back. I startled at the touch, but he ignored it, rubbing gently.

"Deep breaths," he said softly, soothing. "It's over now. All over."

"I'm sorry," I said shakily, when I could finally get myself together.

Gibbs nodded. "It's done," he said, "just don't do it again."

"I won't," I promised sincerely.

That seemed to satisfy Gibbs. He guided me toward the door. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up and back downstairs before Ducky puts out an APB."

I smiled despite myself and moved obediently through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs was perched on the workbench in the basement fiddling with the blueprints for a woodworking project he had in mind when he heard the front door open and Ducky's distinctive voice call out, "Jethro."

"Down here, Duck," he shouted up the stairs and through the open door. When he heard Ducky's steps on the basement stairs, he twisted around to look over his shoulder at him and said," I didn't hurt your boy, Duck."

"I daresay Mr. Palmer might disagree with that assessment," Ducky replied.

Gibbs resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You know what I mean. Sure he'll be sore for a day or two, but it didn't do him any harm. At least, you've never seemed to think so when it was any of the others."

"No, no," Ducky assured him, "you know I don't disagree with your methods."

Gibbs turned around, settling back against the work surface and leveling Ducky with a look. "Then why are you here? You know you're always welcome, but we both know this isn't a random social call."

Ducky sighed. "Must we always dispense with the social niceties, Jethro. There is a time and a place for small talk and easing into a conversation, you know." Gibbs just arched an eyebrow. Ducky sighed again and shuffled awkwardly. "Mr. Palmer isn't one of your agents."

"No, he's not," Gibbs agreed, "and if he'd kept his ass in autopsy where he belongs instead of sneaking to my crime scene and trying to play the hero, I wouldn't have had to treat him like one." Ducky started to speak again, but Gibbs cut him off, "Don't try to tell me he didn't deserve it. He disobeyed a direct order, Duck. He's damn lucky all he got was a busted nose. It could've been far, far worse, Duck, and you know it."

Ducky nodded reluctantly. "Yes, you're right. Young Jimmy made some extremely poor choices, and I understand why you think he needed to be disciplined. The lad doubtless deserved a thrashing. I even understand why you felt the need to handle it yourself this time. After all, it was, as you said, your crime scene and your order he disobeyed."

"Damn right it was," Gibbs growled.

"However," Ducky continued, "as you have also pointed out, Mr. Palmer is my assistant."

With a sudden flash of insight, Gibbs understood. He picked up his coffee and took a sip to cover the urge to laugh. He regarded Ducky over the rim of his cup. It was like he'd fallen through Alice's damned rabbit hole or something. First, the autopsy gremlin pops up on the damned crime scene and runs over the perp with a car, and now Ducky was getting territorial.

"What are you getting at?" Gibbs asked, fighting hard to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"In the future," Ducky said stiffly, "I'd appreciate it if you would leave whatever discipline Mr. Palmer might require to me."

"It's not as if I'm lining up to bust their butts, Duck. I don't enjoy it, but they're my responsibility," Gibbs told him.

"No," Ducky countered, "Mr. Palmer is my responsibility."

"Not as far as the director is concerned," Gibbs replied, "he made it very clear that he considers you both part of my team."

Now it was Ducky's turn to look amused. "Does that mean you're going to try to punish me as well?"

"Am I going to need to?" Gibbs asked.

" Of course not," Ducky answered. "My point is, your role as my supervisor, and by extension, Mr. Palmer's, is somewhat limited and of a different nature than your supervision of your agents. While we both officially report to you, I am Mr. Palmer's direct supervisor, just as you are for Timothy and Anthony. I'm sure you realize how awkward it would be if someone else felt the need to discipline them."

The strength of the fury that ripped through Gibbs stunned him with its intensity. No one touched his kids but him. He tipped his cup at Ducky in silent acknowledgment. "Point taken," he said. "I'll leave Palmer to you, as long as he stays out of my crime scenes."

Ducky nodded. "Of course."

"Put your boy on a short leash, Duck," Gibbs said grimly.

"Don't worry, Jethro," Ducky said, heading back up the stairs, "Young Jimmy is about to find his wings severely clipped."

Gibbs chuckled. Palmer wasn't going to know what hit him.


End file.
